Merry Christmas, Mustang!
by Cameron-Sholto
Summary: CRACK. Roy Mustang is not acting like himself. The officers wonder what can cheer him up, and think they've found a solution. But what will Hawkeye say?


**Merry Christmas, Mustang! - A Short Holiday Fic 2**

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own any of these characters (though I wish some of the men were mine. . .), so don't sue me._

Mustang's battalion officers had gathered without their leader in secret, something that they very rarely did.

Riza Hawkeye looked a bit put out. This was decidedly not her idea of a productive workday, and she didn't see how Havoc had managed to bully her into calling this meeting in the first place. She should have just shot him, she decided.

But there was something troubling her. Troubling all of them. And they needed to talk about it before things got out of hand.

"Has anyone else noticed that the Colonel's been looking a bit. . . down lately?" asked Havoc, his pale blue eyes shimmering with concern for his superior officer.

Feury nodded. . .well. . .furiously, nearly losing his glasses in the process. "I know! It's really sad. I wish there was something we could do to cheer him up." He whispered conspiratorially, "I heard he isn't even going on dates."

The men gasped. Hawkeye rolled her eyes.

Havoc smiled. "Ordinarily, I'd be happy about that news," he replied, thinking about all the women that had been his before the great Roy Mustang swept them off their feet, "but it just isn't like Mustang to ignore the ladies."

Falman piped up. "Pardon me, sir, but it sounds as if the Colonel is suffering from depression. He has all the common signs: lethargy, irritability, restlessness, loss of interest in sex, –"

Hawkeye cut him off. "We get the picture, Warrant Officer Falman." she sighed, concern for her friend evident on her face. "So, what are we going to do?"

Breda's face lit up. "Well, ma'am, Jean and I have been discussing it, and we think we may have thought of something to cheer him up. It made sense, really."

"So, what is it?"

Breda whispered in her ear.

She squealed and whipped out a pistol, pointing it at him. "Absolutely not! That's ridiculous! You can't possibly. . ."

Havoc grinned ear to ear. "Actually, ma'am, we already did. You're the only one who hasn't agreed yet."

Feury stared into her doe-like brown eyes, pleading. "Please, ma'am. It's the only thing we could think of to put a smile back on his face. We miss him."

She sighed. "I miss him too, Kain." She stood up, her face resolute. "Alright. I'll do it!"

"Yeah!" shouted the men in unison. Havoc gave Feury a high five, which was quickly turned into a stiff salute as Hawkeye aimed her pistol at them.

* * *

It was late Christmas Eve, and in the Eastern Headquarters, one creature was stirring, just barely. Roy Mustang sat at his desk, the last sheet of a large stack of paperwork in front of him. He sighed, signed the paper, and put his pen down.

"Finally, all caught up," he murmured. He walked over to the couch and lay down, not in the mood to call for a car to take him home. His eyes heavy, he curled up in a ball and fell asleep, a worried look on his handsome face.

* * *

The next morning, Mustang awoke with a serious backache. "Oh, Hell," he moaned, and stretched painfully, trying to get the kinks out.

Hawkeye could hear the moans and swear words from the other side of the door. "I guess I'd better go find out what's wrong with him," she told the group of enlisted women who were with her.

Opening the door, she discovered the Colonel, a pained look plastered on his face.

"I'm not old, Riza! Why the hell does my back feel like I'm 80?"

She smiled at him compassionately. "I keep telling you not to sleep on the couch, sir." She walked over to him, placing one hand on his back, and bent him over it by pushing on his chest. There was a slight popping noise, and an annoyed squeak from Mustang, but when she released him, he was standing straight and proud.

"Feel better, sir?"

"Much better. Thank y. . ." His eyes trailed down her body, growing wide with surprise.

Riza Hawkeye was in a miniskirt! And not just any miniskirt. A _tiny_ miniskirt!

"Wow, um, Hawkeye?" He mumbled, a silly grin on his face. "You. . .you know what you're wearing, right?"

She smiled sweetly at him, ignoring the impulse to shoot him. "Yes, sir. It is a miniskirt."

"Why?"

She grabbed his arm awkwardly. "Follow me, sir."

* * *

Hawkeye dragged him out the door and into the atrium.

"Merry Christmas!" shouted a chorus of feminine voices.

"Merry Christmas, sir!" echoed the male officers, grins plastered on their faces.

Mustang looked around. The entire female portion of the Eastern Headquarters stood before him. All in miniskirts. And little santa hats.

Breda walked over to him. "Well, sir, I hope you like your present."

Havoc piped up. "To paraphrase something a great man once said, when Christmas comes, there'll be changes: on that day, all female personnel will be required to wear TINY MINISKIRTS!"

"Um, the santa hats were my idea," chimed Feury, blushing awkwardly.

Mustang stared at them. Then, he started laughing.

"This is the best present ever!" he announced. "Thank you, everyone!"

* * *

Later on, a smile plastered on his face, Mustang sat at his desk, his feet up.

"Merry Christmas, you master manipulator, you," he crooned to himself, flipping through his little black book.


End file.
